Run To You
by California smells funny
Summary: Postwar, Harry is falling for someone, and it's not his girlfriend, Ginny. Will he come clean with her and with the one he loves? Very mild HPGW, strong slash HPDM, rating now raised.
1. Just Another Evening

**Chapter One**

_A/N: This is a new fic, inspired by one of my favourite songs, Run To You by Bryan Adams. I'm amazed that I was hit by inspiration for a Drarry fic rather than a WolfStar (SBRL) one. There's mild het and less mild slash (not in this chapter); there may even be lemon later. If you like your ships faithful, hit Back now._

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"Harry, is that you?" Ginny called, emerging from the kitchen. "You're late home."

"I know," Harry said apologetically, going over and kissing her on the cheek. "Work was hectic."

"It always is," she smiled, hugging him briefly and then frowning. "You smell really good; where have you been?"

"Oh, one of the stupid Ministry owls decided to relieve itself on my head, so I had to cast a cleaning charm before I came home."

Ginny laughed. "Come on, dinner's pretty much ready; let's eat and you can tell me more about your day."

It was a year since Harry and Ginny had left Hogwarts, and eighteen months since the end of the war. When Harry was in seventh year, he, Ron, and Hermione had, as they had promised, gone off to find Horcruxes, returning only for a couple of weeks at Headmistress McGonagall's request to teach the younger students some defence. The following winter, that of Ginny's seventh year, had seen the Final Battle, finishing off plenty of the Light Side as well as Voldemort and countless Death Eaters. Ginny had lost her brother Percy, and the last two of the Marauders had bitten the dust too, one for each side. After the battle, Harry and Ginny had returned to school to take their NEWTs, graduating together in the summer and leaving at the same time.

Much to everyone's surprise, Harry had not become an Auror after the war was over. He was working for the Ministry, but in the Department for Improper Use of Magic. Ron had followed the Auror path, though, and Hermione and Ginny were now both Healers at St Mungo's. Ginny's working hours still occasionally put strain on her relationship with Harry, but his own hours could be demanding – like tonight, or so she thought.

They entered the living room shortly after, each carrying a plate of steaming Chinese food. Ginny had turned out to be something of a domestic goddess, even without the aid of magic. All things considered, she had turned out to be full of surprises after the war.

"So what was going down at the Ministry today?" Ginny asked, twirling noodles around her fork as she sat on the floor, her back leaning against Harry's legs where he sat on the sofa.

"Oh, some kid casting a spell somewhere; we had to go and tell him off," Harry said guiltily, eating a beansprout before going on. "It wasn't anything harmful, so we let him off, but then when we flooed back I had to get onto McGonagall at Hogwarts and find out what the kid was doing home during term-time in the first place."

"And?"

Harry sighed. "It turns out his grandfather died, so his parents took him out of school for a few days. He was really messed up, and that was why he was using magic."

"That's sad," Ginny said meditatively. "Was he okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. People get over this stuff, especially at his age; he was only thirteen."

"Not a terminal delinquent, then."

"Nope." Harry leaned back against the sofa cushions, relieved that his story was working. He had been called out to see this kid today, but it wasn't why he was late, and the part about an owl using his head as a toilet was an outright lie. He hated lying to Ginny, but he had done something really stupid, and what was worse, he kept doing the stupid thing, over and over again.

Why hadn't he told her? Simple. He was terrified of hurting her. When they had got together again, after the war, she was fragile, and he wasn't sure if she'd got over it yet. Seeing Percy die had made her into a crying wreck for days, and he had a sneaking suspicion that her perfect-wife-type status was a by-product of the trauma. Because far from being the flirt she used to be, she had somehow metamorphosed into a quiet, domestically-minded girl. Once, Harry had had his suspicions about exactly what she was getting up to with all the boys she had dated, but now he had no doubts: nothing had ever happened. She was now an advocate of abstinence until marriage.

He could blame his stupid mistake on that, but the honest truth was it wasn't the reason. He wasn't that impatient.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He realised suddenly that she had been saying something.

"Mione told me today that she and Ron had another fight last night; do you think they're okay?"

"Yeah, sure of it," he replied reassuringly. "They have these little tiffs, but they never mean any of it. They love each other really."

Ginny looked up at him, smiling. "I'd still rather have a relationship without all the little arguments, though; I'm so glad we don't fight."

Her words twisted the knife of guilt further into Harry's chest, but she didn't notice his expression, as that was the moment she stood up and carried her plate into the kitchen. Slowly, he pushed himself off of the sofa and followed her. "So how was your day?"

"Can't complain," Ginny said, rinsing her plate in the sink. "Someone with a vomiting hex got brought in, and I had to look after her, which wasn't pleasant…" She turned to grin at him and added: "It hasn't been a great day for either of us as far as that kind of thing's concerned, has it?"

Harry forced a smile in response. "No, I guess not." Putting his plate down on the draining board, he stepped forward and put his arms around Ginny from behind. "What time's your shift tomorrow?"

She carried on washing plates, but he could tell from her voice that she was smiling in appreciation of the display of affection. "I'm in at twelve, but I don't get off till nine, and I promised Mione we'd go and get dinner, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Actually, my apparating goes really wonky when I'm tired, so would you mind if I stayed with her and went to work from there on Thursday?"

"No, I wouldn't mind. I guess I'll just have to go a night without your cooking, but you know, I'll live."

She twisted round to kiss him lightly, smiling. "Thanks, Harry. I think Mione just needs a bit of a break right now."

"She's a devil for overworking herself," he nodded. "Just you make sure it isn't infectious, alright?"

"I will," Ginny promised. "Now I'll wash, you dry." She handed him a tea towel, joking: "Don't you go doing anything irresponsible while I'm not here!"

That probably included what he had planned.

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_A/N: Chapter 2 is ready, but I'm not putting it up just yet. Please review, folks._


	2. Mademoiselle ou Monsieur?

**Chapter Two**

_A/N: I'm really regretting that summary; this fic's bombed! It's slash, okay people? Not het. Thank you to the people who reviewed or put it on alert. Sorry for the delay in posting; fanfiction's been misbehaving slightly._

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"Ginny?"

"Mm… wha…"

"Wake up, honey." Harry sat down on the edge of their bed, dressed and ready for work. For some reason unknown even to himself, he had an odd predilection for taking Muggle transport part of the way to work every day, so he left early. "I've got to go."

Ginny's eyes fluttered open reluctantly, and she looked up at him. "Already?"

He smiled. "It's eight twenty. I just thought I should wake you up to say bye, since I won't see you till tomorrow night."

"Oh…" She rubbed her eyes, the bright blue glinting in the early sunlight. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," he said softly. "Say hello to Mione for me. And make sure you get some more sleep before you have to go to the hospital."

"I will. Bye baby."

"Bye." He leaned down to kiss her before he stood up and left the room. He felt like a right bastard doing what he was going to do while she was away, but every time he told himself to quit, something stopped him.

Ticket office, train, tube, walk. The same as every morning, but with an even bigger guilt trip than usual.

Street, telephone box, sign-in, badge, lift, atrium. Yes, hello stupid fountain. He still maintained that the Ministry had some damned unpleasant décor in places.

He reached his office on the second floor and sat down in his swivel chair, picking up a piece of parchment and scribbling a memo, enchanting it and sending it zooming off to its destination. Whether he would be doing anything 'irresponsible' in his girlfriend's absence depended on the reply to that memo.

It flew back in ten minutes later with an answer.

_Fine, floo over at 7 tonight. I know how crap your cooking is without her around, so I'll have dinner ready._

Harry smiled, against his conscience. Yep, he was definitely going to be doing something irresponsible. Stowing the fluttering memo in a desk drawer, he turned his attention to his in-tray, overflowing as usual.

At eleven, an owl flew in, and he recognised it as his own, Hedwig, still with him now and snowier than ever. Ruffling her feathers gently, he took the parchment from her leg, guessing correctly that it must be from Ginny.

_Hi Harry, I got more sleep after you went, like I promised. Now I'm bored and I don't have to go to work just yet. I wish you were here! Ginny xxx_

It was sweet and so characteristic of Ginny to send a message like that, but it didn't bring a smile to his face. He couldn't carry on like this; something was going to give soon.

At five thirty, Harry flooed out of the Ministry and home to the house, noting how quiet it felt with Ginny out at work. Whenever she was there, the house seemed more alive somehow. There was so much he loved about her, but it just didn't feel like enough any more.

Dropping his briefcase in the bedroom, he took a shower, emerging from the bathroom half an hour later wrapped in a towel. Slipping his glasses back on, he swung open the wardrobe and started debating what to wear. The only problem with this way of living was that it made him feel like a girl half the time. And the frequent clothing debates weren't the half of it.

Eventually he settled for something he'd worn before: black jeans and a dark green sweater with a V-neck. It was still only six fifteen; he had three quarters of an hour to waste. He spent a while longer getting ready, blow-drying his hair and brushing it until it lay almost flat (not that that would matter), and going on a hunt for his shoes, which always seemed to have a mind of their own, and at that a mind which was hell-bent on escaping. At last, holding both shoes, he went downstairs and sat down in the kitchen, flipping through the Daily Prophet, noting that a couple of his Hogwarts contemporaries were getting married.

At quarter to seven, he realised that the floo powder was running low and he was going to have to get more soon, without Ginny knowing. She'd never noticed how much of the stuff they got through, fortunately. He returned to the kitchen, dug in a drawer for a Wizarding Supplies owl-order form, filled it in with a biro, and found Hedwig in the utility room, sipping from her water dish. He tied the form to her leg, stroked her head and let her out of the charmed skylight, watching her flutter off across the garden before she ascended, a little further away from the houses.

Finally it was seven o' clock. Harry ran a hand over his hair, straightened his glasses, and picked up the bag he had been hiding under the stairs. Taking a deep breath in, he tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped in after it, his words muffled by the sound of the flames as he said his destination.

For a long moment, he was whirling through an endless tunnel lined with fireplaces. He'd never quite adjusted to flooing, though he had to admit it was a lot easier than it used to be.

Then, abruptly, the moment was over, and he stepped neatly out onto a black and silver rug. His exits had definitely got more dignified with time. He hadn't fallen out of a fireplace for months now.

He looked up, making sure he still had his bag and was in the right place. Oh yes, this was the right place. He was standing in a huge room with an open, railed staircase at one side, leading to galleries above, dark wood flooring that shone softly, and deep red walls and furnishings. Everything was either gleaming gently or giving off an impression of incredible softness, and it was all lit by understated chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The room's majesty was still impressive, even though Harry had stood here so many times he had lost count.

At present, the room was empty. He glanced at his watch; it was seven o' clock alright, maybe even a little past. His eyes were still lowered to his wrist when someone walked in from the right hand end of the room.

"Are you _still_ obsessed with punctuality?" The newcomer spoke. "If I'm thirty seconds late or whatever, I'm sorry, it's because I was doing dinner."

It was funny how they still talked like this sometimes, even though so much had changed. Harry never really thought about it; he just supposed that old habits died hard. Or in his case, this kind of exchange could be valuable for veiling what he was really thinking. His head snapping back up to look towards the door, he walked forward. "Sorry. I shouldn't complain; you didn't have to let me come here tonight anyway."

There was a strange flash in his host's eyes as Harry said that, but then they reached each other and a handshake turned – as it customarily did with them – into an embrace, a brief kiss, and a smile from both parties.

"So Harry, how was your day?" A pale, slender arm slipped around Harry's waist and led him towards the kitchen.

"Oh, not so bad. Busy, but then it always is," Harry answered, dropping his bag by the door as they passed through it. "That smells good," he added, inhaling the scent from the kitchen stove.

"What did you expect?" his host asked, flashing him a smile. "Since the emancipation of the house elves, I've learned a lot about how to cook."

"I'm not contesting that; I've eaten your cooking too often to be able to criticise it." Harry smiled back, wishing that these conversations could happen more often. There was definitely something more than just a physical spark between them, and he wished to god either that he could stop feeling the way he did, or that it could be requited.

He sat down in the chair that was pulled out for him, and at a wave of his host's wand, plates landed on the table in front of the two of them. "Enjoy." Harry obliged.

When he finished his meal and was sipping his second glass of wine (a light, fruity white), he looked up to watch his companion, who was finishing a last morsel of sea bass. Fine blond hair fell across pale, sculpted features, framing glinting silver-blue eyes and delicate lips. At length, those eyes were raised and came to rest on Harry. "Que pensez-vous, Monsieur?" (1)

Harry smiled, placing his wine glass carefully back on its coaster and indulging the sudden transition in language. "Très bien, Draco." (2)

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_Translations: (1) "What do you think, Sir?"(2) "Very good, Draco."_

_A/N: Please please review guys, I need the boost._


	3. Past, Present Future?

**Chapter Three**

_Disclaimer: The main characters belong to JK Rowling (at least, their names do), but the setting, plot and some other characters are mine._

_A/N: I confess that I wrote this update as an afterthought when I'd finished my other updates (Solitaire and A Silver Locket), but it didn't turn out as badly as I feared. I know a few people seemed to really like this fic, and I hope this lives up to what you hoped, if you're still reading._

_Warning: Slashiness. The rating has been changed accordingly._

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After dinner came the customary flash of guilt, blazing brilliantly in Harry's mind before he forgot completely about Ginny as he was handed another glass of wine and Draco led the way into the high-ceilinged room which housed the fireplace.

As usual, it barely took a sip to get them talking, about the day, about the news, about anything. Conversation between them was easy, and Harry knew he could have done this for hours on end. Sadly for him, it never lasted quite that long.

At times, he still found himself at a loss as to how they had got to where they were with one another. In school they had hated each other, but after Draco had switched sides and the war had begun in earnest, they had forged a civil, if distant, working relationship. It was only when they had finished school and started preparations for what was to be the final battle that anything more had happened.

Harry had been in his room, back at the castle, which was then more like a military bastion than a school, even though it was still managing to function as both. At the time, he had been working on adapting a defensive spell he had discovered in a startlingly old book Hermione had found for him, when he had heard a knock on his door, and gone to find out who it was.

When he had opened the door, it was with slight dismay that he had found Draco standing there. Truth be told, he had recently been receiving the distinct impression that the blond was flirting with him, something which made him feel rather uncomfortable. At the age of eighteen, Harry was not exactly sure of himself or of his sexuality, and was even more confused about his growing attraction to his former enemy.

Draco had quickly put a stop to all that. Stepping calmly into the room, he had said coolly: "Don't start thinking that this means anything. Call it an experiment if that helps." And then he had delivered the kiss that had smashed through the world as they knew it. And after that there had been the act of passion – not love – that had picked up the pieces and rearranged them to change the pattern of their lives.

Since then, their trysts had happened often. Despite the guilt of cheating on Ginny, Harry couldn't stop himself seeking the blond man's embrace at every opportunity he had. It had started out as a release, and over time had become an arrangement. Now, for Harry, it was a need. While he really did love Ginny, with her there was none of the electricity he felt with Draco. He could kid himself that it was because he and Ginny had never taken a step beyond kissing, but the reality was different. There was something Draco could give him that Ginny couldn't, and it was nothing as simple as the difference in gender, or the presence of sex. Fighting the feeling all the way, as it would always be impossible to fulfil or have requited, he knew that he was slowly falling for his lover.

"So how are Granger and Weasley getting on?" Draco's voice broke into his reverie. "Married life treating them well?"

There were moments like this, when conversation was friendly and civil, that he had to battle against giving in to fantasies of a future together. He mentally kicked himself and focused on the question. "They're good. They have the odd argument, of course, but that's normal. After all, they used to fight like cat and dog."

Draco smiled. "Now that was one of the few things that really made people laugh during the war. You could always rely on them to fall out over something trivial and cheer everyone up." He took a last sip from his almost-empty wine glass, and stood up to check the bottle on the table, finding it dry. "Worth opening another, do you think?"

"I guess not."

With a nod, Draco came over to take Harry's own empty glass, leaning over him until they were in close proximity. Then suddenly the usual light kindled in his blue-grey eyes, and Harry could see what was coming. He barely found time to take a breath before Draco had put the glass aside and captured his lips in a fierce kiss. Then, before he knew it, he was flat on his back on the sofa, and Draco was on top of him, kissing him in that way of his, the way that demanded total submission.

When they both had to breathe, Draco was on his feet, grabbing Harry's hand, tugging him halfway up the stairs before connecting their lips again. And now they were relying on instinct to take them in the direction of the bedroom, still attached, now falling onto the bed, Draco's slim body pressing Harry into the soft mattress.

Quickly, sweaters and shirts were thrown aside, hands and limbs and tongues performing the dance they had been engaging in for nearly two years now. Draco was biting at his lover's collarbone, and Harry knew that there would be a vivid red patch there later. That was why the blond was always so careful never to mark above the area of what a shirt could cover; while they rarely acknowledged Harry's relationship with Ginny, they both knew it was there, and caution was wise.

Harry was fast losing his control again, as he so often did with Draco. When he felt fingertips pushing down under the tight fabric of his jeans, he was unable to hold back a moan.

In response, Draco paused for a moment, ceasing all movement and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "You want it, don't you?"

Harry's answer was hissed as he resorted to Parseltongue; that wasn't unheard of when he was in such a situation. Draco couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he still seemed to find it attractive – maybe it was the Slytherin in him.

It only took a few fluid motions before they were both free, pale skin pressing against tan, energy rising, movements quickening. There was a familiar pain, sharp movements, and sounds akin to screams as first Harry, then Draco, came.

Afterwards, there was quiet. They would have conversations beforehand, sure, but after business was finished with, there was no pillow talk. That was the deal.

A while later, listening to Draco's soft breathing as he slept, Harry found himself staring up at the dark green canopy of the bed, the colour of his eyes mirrored in the fabric. Why couldn't this be something more?

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_A/N: I apologise in advance for the somewhat weak implied-lemon here, and for the shockingly long time it's taken me to update. If you're still here, thank you, and please review. I have too many stories going at once, and I hate to say it, but if this fic isn't doing reasonably well, it'll be the first to go. For that reason, it looks like it may turn out shorter than I planned. On the bright side, that makes it more likely to be finished at some point. I really will try._

_CSF_


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